


Dollhouse

by NikkiRynne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Domestic Violence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Reader was abused, Reader-Insert, Romance, reader - Freeform, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:01:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikkiRynne/pseuds/NikkiRynne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters accidentally break into an abusive household and in result, rescue the abused reader. As the reader begins her new life as a hunter working alongside the Winchesters, things that were once purely familial and platonic are distorted into something more intense. </p><p>Inspired (slightly) by Dollhouse by Melanie Martinez</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> I should be writing for Yes Doctor, but this idea for a story has been on my mind a lot recently. Now, this story does cover some really heavy topics, so please approach this story carefully. I am not trying to glorify or romanticize abuse. That is NOT my intention. If abuse and topics related to abuse (such as violence in general) trigger you, please do not read this. The last thing I want to do is trigger someone because I know how horrible that can be. Also, if you or someone you know is experiencing abuse in any way, (domestic, physical, emotional, mental, etc.), do not hesitate to get help. There is a very large list for abuse hotlines online for every country, state, region, county, etc.. Speak out and educate others on the nightmare that is abuse.
> 
> ((That being said, as this story progresses, the topic of abuse will not be brought up as often to symbolize the reader's transition to a clear and healthy mind. Most of the topic will be discussed in the first few chapters.))

The scene was quite a sight. The Winchesters broke in at about 11:55PM on a Tuesday. They didn't have to wander the house or investigate to know exactly what was going on. Besides, the front door has an excellent view of the kitchen. Their eyes took in the moment: a battered young woman cowering on the kitchen tile, surround by shattered glass that was tinted maroon from the wine it was holding, the wine itself dripping from the woman's nose, forehead, and hair; a bulky man towering above her, holding the in-tact neck of the wine bottle in his right hand with his arm extended high as if he were about to strike again had the Winchesters not walked in on time; and an well-dressed older woman holding a flask in her left hand and a cigarette in her right one, leaning up against the kitchen counter nonchalantly watching the abusive in front of her. The room was silent for a moment, everyone frozen and looking at the new people in front of them. When the man (obviously under the influence) shouted, "what the fuck do you want?", the Winchesters realized that they had broken into the wrong house. No werewolf in here. However, Dean was thankfully hot-headed enough to put a stop to what was unfolding in front of him. Grabbing out his gun, he threatened the "son of a bitch" to get on his knees before he blew his "abusive, evil head off". When the older man refused, one shot in the left shin was enough to have him on the floor cursing and distracted. The taller brother quickly, but cautiously, picked up the bloody and bruised young woman off the floor and rushed to the impala outside, his brother hot on his heels, still pointing the gun at the old couple.

The woman was laid in the back with the younger Winchester as he cleaned her up as best as he could. The sandy blonde in the driver's seat sped at an ungodly pace back to the motel. The werewolf needed to wait. This mystery woman could not be left alone. As they arrived at the motel, the now-unconscious woman was carried in the arms of her seat partner to a cheap motel bed, staining it with her blood and the wine in her hair. She wouldn't be able to remember getting to the motel, but when she woke up, she knew exactly what had happened after she left the hell she called a home.

That woman was you.

To say that you were grateful was a fucking understatement. You would give your life and more to repay the Winchesters for everything they had done for you. They had no idea who the hell you were, but they saved your life anyway. That kindness was completely new to you.

A year had passed since that night, but you thought about it every single day. You made it a point to wake up every morning before the brothers did and make them breakfast in the bunker as a thank you. You would never stop thanking them. How could you?

Needless to say, you had really adapted to the hunter life. It was absolutely dangerous and risky and you could die at any moment, but so was living at your house. You weren't afraid of these monsters that would so persistently present themselves in front of you. You weren't afraid when you volunteered to distract the monsters so the brothers could perform a sneak attack. You had spent 18 years accepting death and preparing yourself for it. You spent 18 years preparing yourself for the day your father would drink a sip too much or the day you would talk a decimal too loud or the day your father would shove you one Newton too hard. You had seen the day that you had stood up to your father during a drunken rage and struck him, you weren't afraid of a silly monster living under the bed. Because nothing in the world was more frightening to you than the sound the lock on the door made when your father returned home.

The punches the creatures threw were pathetic and light compared to the ones dealt to you by your own family.

But you didn't have to worry about that anymore. You had a new family: Dean, Sam, and Bobby. And after hearing your story, you grew especially close to Bobby. You didn't have to explain yourself to him or either of the boys. You had finally settled into a place where everything was warm and kind and safe. You didn't consider yourself to be a victim of abuse, you were a survivor. And this new-found fire lighted by these three men made you feel invincible. This safehouse occupied by these four outcasts was the best thing in the world to you. There was no place you would rather be than next to Sam, Dean, and Bobby.

 


	2. Honesty and Intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's an early morning in the beat-up motel the reader and the boys are staying in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thanks for the feedback on the Introduction. I'm really excited to start writing for my very first Supernatural fanfiction and I really hope that this chapter isn't very cheesy. I love Supernatural so much and I hope I'm doing it justice with this story! This chapter is basically just some background and establishment for the relationship the reader has with the brothers. I promise actual plot will come!
> 
> Trigger warnings: mentions of abuse, panic attacks, and sexual assault/harassment (just butt-pinching)

You woke up on a Sunday morning with a quiet, hangover-like groan. Sleep was not on your side. It was another exhausting and sleep-deprived morning. You laid on your stomach with a heavy arm draped over you haphazardly. You fluttered your eyes open and you admired the golden haze that enveloped the room. Flicking your eyes from the blinding window to the nightstand, you grabbed your glasses and pushed them lazily on your face. Now that your vision was pristine, you were granted with the ability to spot the older Winchester on the greasy motel bed adjacent to yours. His pink lips were pursed like he was trying to pull off the "Blue Steel" look or whatever he called it. Turning over onto your back, trying desperately not to disturb the large man sleeping next to you by accidentally moving his arm off you, you held his firm bicep and let your eyes meet his shut ones. Your flopping wasn't as graceful as you had anticipated, and Sam flinched awake.

"Oh, hey," he greeted groggily, his arm moving from your torso to his face.

"Hey, sorry. Go back to sleep, Sam," you ordered sweetly.

Sam propped himself up on his elbow and tried looking around, his eyes not opening fully. "What time is it?"

"Morning."

He smiled loosely and he looked down at you, the bags under his eyes telling a story familiar to yours. "It's too early for the sass, [l/n]."

You smirked and shifted slightly to get comfortable again. "Doesn't matter what time it is. You need sleep, Sam. Especially after last night."

"What the hell happened last night?" a groggy and suspicious voice asked behind you.

You turned around again, giggling. "Not what you're thinking about," you assured.

"Mornin' Dean."

"'Sup." Dean lazily and ungracefully removed himself from his bed and headed towards the bathroom. Sam nudged you.

"You have trouble sleeping last night, too?"

You groaned and put your hands on your face, rubbing your eyes and letting them linger on your slightly clammy skin. "As always."

Sam stretched his arms out towards you and pulled you into a tight, almost literally breathtakingly tight, cuddle. He rocked you back and forth as you muffled another groan into his chest. Sam gave the best hugs and he knew you were weak for tight bearhugs, but his were purposefully intense sometimes. He would look at you in these special moments, moments that had no rules or precedents as to what the moment needed to be, and he would get this overwhelming urge to squeeze you. He wasn't sure if it was the fact that you were so much smaller than him, or if it was the fact that you were so deprived of hugs and affection and intimacy as a child, or if it was because he found you so ridiculously adorable. He was sure, however, that your reaction to these extreme bearhugs was something he loved. It was always different. Sometimes you would squeeze impressively tight back or you would scream as he twirled you around or you would go limp like you were doing now and allow him to get the urge out of his system. You didn't mind these hugs. Any hug from THE Sam Winchester was a good hug.

Dean's aggressive bootybumps and stinging high-fives were a different story, though.

When Sam was finished squeezing you, he held you in place loosely, allowing you to breathe and lay your head on his chest so you could listen to his heartbeat. He sighed and smiled. He loved holding you. And you loved being held. It was something you craved your entire life. The first time he held you, though, you went into a full-on panic attack. It was a completely new experience and during your first few months with the Winchesters, you were violently haunted with flashbacks of your former situation and a victim of severe panic attacks when it came to Dean and Sam yelling at each other or when Dean would sneak up behind you (which he learned quickly not to do). You were unfamiliar with human contact that wasn't malicious. And that was one of the saddest things Sam had ever witnessed. Your situation confused the hell out of him. He would look at you, even now, and wonder what kind of monster would ever inflict harm on someone so kind-hearted and caring and all-around beautiful and passionate.

While Sam was caring, Dean was protective. Of course both of them were caring and protective, but Dean kept you physically safe while Sam kept you emotionally safe. One time at a bar, the three of you were huddled around Sam's laptop when an older man came up behind you and pinched your rear, causing you to panic and tear up. In a heartbeat, Dean was already in the guy's personal space, punching his face and threatening him to 'touch [you] again and see what happens'. When he came back, you apologized, earning a confused face from both brothers. It was then that they realized that you were always taught to apologize for any conflict in the house, for you were always to blame when you lived with your parents. They vowed to themselves that they would teach you to never be sorry. For anything. Even when you accidentally knocked over your coffee and spilled it on Dean's crotch in a diner one morning. He looked at you straight in the eyes and ordered you to stop apologizing.

Sam stroked your hair lovingly and you closed your eyes again, breathing deeply to take in his musky scent.

"Sam, can I say something?" you asked hesitantly.

"You don't have to ask permission to speak, [f/n]," he said soothingly. You mumbled a sorry, earning a soft flick in the nose from Sam. "No 'sorry's either," he chuckled.

You took in a deep breath, preparing yourself for the deep honesty you were about to share with him.

"Sam, I'm really lucky to have you and Dean."

He let go of you and scooted so his face was level with yours. "We're lucky to have you too, [f/n]," he reminded you seriously.

"It's just," you steadied yourself, "if you and Dean hadn't fucked up the house number in my neighborhood, you would have never met me." Sam's eyes darkened and his face froze in a serious expression. "I don't know what my dad was going to do that night. You guys saved my life." You looked at him right in his now glossy eyes. "I would be dead right now if it weren't for you two."

Sam hugged you again, tangling his limbs with yours. He placed a kiss to your temple and spoke softly into your ear as you held the embrace. "Dean and I have saved so many people. And we've made so man mistakes. But I think writing down the wrong address was the best mistake we've ever made."

You pulled away and looked into his puppy dog eyes. "Thank you."

You both smiled goofily at each other, enjoying the cliche moment shared between you two. Dean emerged from the bathroom in his own world with his toothbrush in his mouth and began pushing his pajama pants down to his ankles. You figured you should try to snag the bathroom while you could, so you flicked Sam on the nose for revenge for the nose-flick administered to you earlier and crawled out of bed. You walked around the motel to your bag by the door and bent down the fetch your toothbrush and contacts, allowing the oversized Phantom of the Opera shirt you found at a thrift store to hike up your lower back and allowing the boys to have a decent view of your cartoon frog-printed panties. Dean stopped stripping and stared at your newly exposed garment, tilting his head conspicuously to the side as if to get a better view. Sam noticed his brother freezing in his place and concentrating on something, so Sam followed his gaze and let out a startled grunt, covering up his slip-up with a series of faked coughs.

All of this unnoticed to you, you grabbed your goods and headed towards the bathroom without a word, leaving the door open so Dean could finish brushing his teeth.

Dean turned to Sam with wide eyes. This was the most intimate thing of yours they had ever seen and they were acting like 6th grade boys who just saw a woman in a bikini for the first time since the beginning of puberty. Usually, you wore sweatpants or shorts to sleep, but what made you change your mind last night was unknown to them. Your shirt was long enough to cover your intimate parts, but not when you bent over. Sam stared at Dean back and mouthed 'wow'.

Little did the boys know that this was the first of many steps on their road from 'Oh hey it's [f/n]' to 'Oh fuck it's [f/n]'.


	3. Happy Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader realizes that it's her birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry for the long wait. I've talked about difficulties at home in my notes for Yes Doctor, but just in case you guys didn't know, things are hard down here and I'm trying to find as much time to write as I can. Thank you guys for your patience and understanding and support!
> 
> Let me know how you're enjoying it, and make sure you check out my TF2 series Yes Doctor!

Your contacts were freshly cleaned and popped onto your eyes and your toothbrush was scrubbing away rapidly at your teeth. Your mind was clear and you were nonchalant; this morning was just like every other morning when you stayed in a motel with the boys. Turning the faucet on again so Dean could spit his foamed toothpaste into the shared sink, you suddenly froze and your eyes widened.

  
"Oh my God," you muttered with your toothbrush hanging out the side of your toothpaste-filled mouth.

  
Dean spit out his rinsing water and looked up quizzically at you while you stared off into space with a concern knitting your brows together. "What?"

  
You blinked and slowly turned your head to your roommate. Looking him straight in the eye, you mumbled, "It's my birthday today."

  
Dean's eyes widened and his brows raised, tucking his chin in and asking, "Are you serious?"

  
You came to your senses and spat out the peppermint-flavored paste, making sure to rinse every crevice in your mouth with water before speaking to him again. "Yeah. I'm 20."

  
"I thought you were turning 19 this year."

  
You shook your head. "No, I turned 19 last year. That's how birthdays work." You giggled as he raised an eyebrow to your polite sass. "You found me when I was 18, and then like a week or two afterwards, I turned 19."

  
Dean leaned up against the bathroom counter as you tied your hair up and flipped on the hot water, preparing to wash your face. "We didn't celebrate it, did we?" he asked, guilt coating his words.

  
You flicked your hand through the running water and adjusted the hot and cold knobs until you reached the tepid temperature you desired. "Nah, I didn't tell you guys. We were at the bunker and y'all were out investigating so I just decided to spend it alone."

  
Dean looked at you with all the guilt in the world as you grabbed a cloth from one of the cupboards under the sink. "Jesus, [f/n], you could've told us; we would've at least gotten you a cake or a card or something."

  
You grabbed some generic facewash provided by the motel and squirted a dollop onto your index and middle fingers after wetting your face. "Dean, I spent every one of my birthdays without anything extravagant. It's fine, you guys had just met me. I didn't expect anything. I'm used to being alone on my birthday. It gave me time to think and enjoy myself, I guess." You spread the facewash between your hands and began applying the mint green color in circles all over your face.

  
"How about we take you out to dinner or something today? No work. Just relaxing." He smirked down at you as you massaged your green face. "What do you say, Dr. Banner?"

  
You looked up at him playfully and showed your teeth, pretending to growl like the Hulk. He chuckled and admired your youth. You had spent so much time being hurt, yet you had no problem being silly around the boys, and Dean admired that about you. You smiled at him and turned back to the sink, splashing your face and scrubbing the excess facewash off near the corners of your nose and your hairline. "That sounds nice, Dean," you admitted after finishing your routine, your face pink from the areas you scrubbed with the towel.

  
"Alright. I'll let Sammy know," Dean said, winking at you and clicking his tongue like he loved to do. He turned the corner out of the bathroom and relayed the news to Sam, who was still blushing from the view he had gotten from you. "Hey Sammy."

  
Sam perked up and snapped himself out of his thoughts. "What's up?"

  
Dean walked over to his bag and searched for some clean clothes. "Today's [f/n]'s birthday, so we're gonna take it easy today. No research, no work. Capiche?"

  
Sam looked at him, casually taken aback from the order. "Yeah, sure. What're we gonna do?"

  
Dean grabbed a pair of jeans and boxers from his bag. "I was thinkin' about us taking her to dinner. Sound good?"

  
Sam removed himself from the motel bed, his chiseled chest catching the light directly from the window and his pajama pants sagging and dragging on the tacky carpeted floor. "Yup." He made his way to the bathroom and caught you releasing your hair from your ponytail, bending over and letting your hair fall in front of you and finally snapping back up again, letting your hair flip behind you. Sam leaned up against the door frame and caught his breath at the view of your panties again when you bent over. You eyed his reflection in the mirror and turned around, smiling at him. He smirked down at you and locked his eyes to your wide ones. "Happy Birthday, [f/n]."

  
You smiled cheekily and ran your fingers through your hair, tossing it and smoothing it down rhythmically. "Thanks, Sam."

  
"Hey, can I hop in the shower?" Dean called from the other side of the motel, clothes in hand.

  
"Yeah, sure," you called back, gathering your things and preparing to exit the bathroom to give Dean his privacy. "Just don't hog the water. I wanna shower, too."

  
You and Sam switched places with Dean. The bathroom door closed and locked as Sam sat himself on the edge of the bed he occupied previously. His eyes followed you as you bent down again to place your glasses and toothbrush back into your bag. He stared intensely at your legs. His eyes traveled from your shaped calves to the curves of your thighs, admiring every natural scar, freckle, dimple, and stretchmark as well as the ones you acquired through hunting. A genuinely warm smile found its way to his face while he watched you, thinking about how unique you were and how he wouldn't change a thing. He had seen you in shorts before, but now that he had new skin he hadn't seen, he made sure to look at it as much as he could and memorize it; he didn't know when the next time he would see it was.

  
Little did he know, the next time would be very soon.


	4. Bullet Holes and Playtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Dean steals the shower, the Reader discovers a dent in the wall that strikes a strange chord in her. Confused, Sam decides that the Reader needs to let out some steam via a good ol' fashioned tickle fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry for the huge breaks in between each chapter. My mind is slowing down and it's hard to get motivated and inspired enough to think of a new chapter, even though I already have the whole story planned out! I also apologize for the slow progression of the story so far. I planned on being a lot farther in the story by now, but for some reason I keep getting side tracked and blah blah blah, excuses excuses.
> 
> That being said, I am announcing a short hiatus on "Yes, Doctor". It won't be for too long, but it will be a while before I can get everything sorted out and figure out exactly just how I want the story to end. Keep checking back on my page for updates! I love you guys a lot and I can't wait to hear your feedback!

Shoving the utensils back into your bag, your eyes caught sight of a small dent in the wall just above your possessions. Your eyes squinted as you leaned forward, squatting on the floor to maintain your balance. You raised your petite (in relation to the boys') hand and lightly brushed over the dent, noticing the hollow dip just underneath the cheap 90's wallpaper. Curious, you pointed out your fingernail and began gently scraping at the dent, hoping the wallpaper would tear enough for you to get an idea of what's behind it. Now that you noticed the discrepancy, you couldn't ignore it until you knew exactly what it was. Behind you, Sam watched as you preoccupied yourself with the wall. He tilted his head slightly to try and get a good look of what you were doing.

"Hey, [f/n]?" He approached softly.

Your mind payed no attention to Sam's voice. Your scratching got more intense, scraping back and forth rapidly against the tiny ridges of the paper. You gave one more scratch and finally, the wallpaper tore. You peeled the paper back carefully, making sure that your vandalism would go unnoticed to any staff and future inhabitants of the room. You peeked into the darkness and stuck your finger between the paper folds, letting the wood underneath touch the soft plush of your fingertip and allowing you to map out the dent. Your finger traced around a small hole, too thin for you to stick your finger in. You felt the fractures around the lining, carefully examining the pattern and coming to a quick and thorough conclusion: you were touching a bullet hole. But why was it covered by this wallpaper?

"Sam," you quietly called out. "Feel this, please."

Sam stood up from his spot on the bed behind you and traveled to your side, squatting down to match your position. "What is it?"

You grabbed his large hand and guided it towards the hole, using your free hand to separate the folds in the wallpaper. You made his finger copy the pattern that yours traced, and when you were done, you let go of his hand. "What do you feel?"

Sam's hand remained on the hole, inspecting it further. "Uh, a hole?" He responded, not too sure why you were so fascinated with it.

You shook your head and placed your hand on top of his again. "Feel again," you started as you directed him specifically at the fractures lining the hole. You could see his face change from confusion to realization. "What do you feel?"

"A bullet hole," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Exactly."

He removed his hand and turned to face you. "And what is the significance of this?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but you honestly had no reason to be so fascinated with this. This hole could have been in the wood before it was used to build the motel. Looking up at him again, your cheeks flushed as you muttered a soft, "Nothing." Why did this bullet hole seem so...important to you?

Sam watched as you turned away from him, trying to focus your attention on the hole. He smiled at your bashfulness and stood up. "Hey, let's watch something, okay?" He threw himself on the off-white bed spread and grabbed the television remote off the nightstand, pressing the power button and not hesitating to flick through channels. It wasn't too often that you were graced with the luxury of having a television, but when you were, Sam made sure that you were able to watch all the childhood cartoons that you were so deprived of when you were younger. His pupils dilated when a certain program caught his interest. He smiled goofily and set the remote down, turning to you and patting the space next to him, inviting you to slither in the bed by his side once more. You smiled back and cuddled up next to Sam, letting your head rest in the crook of his neck as he wrapped his arms around you protectively. You could feel his heart rate increasing rapidly and his breathing become heavier underneath you.

You lifted your head so you could look at Sam's face as best as you could. "Sam, you okay?"

He looked straight ahead at the T.V. and answered bluntly, "Yes."

Your brows furrowed, but you lowered yourself back down onto him, letting your legs intertwine with his. Sam wiggled uncomfortably and you pulled away once more. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Sam avoided your question. "[F/n], what do you want for your birthday?"

You squinted your eyes slightly in suspicion, but answered his question anyway. "Uh, nothing, I guess? Why?"

Sam adjusted himself so he was able to look at you straight in the eyes. He placed a rough hand tenderly on your shoulder, and you looked up at him, confused. "[F/n], you deserve a lot better than what you were given in the past. And Dean and I, we don't have much to give you. And I wish we had more. Because you deserve more." You looked up at him, even more puzzled than before. Sam struggled putting his words together. "We...we really like having you around, and you're incredibly talented at hunting. And you have these...these little quirks, I don't know, that really bring a lot of light into our lives. It makes the job easier, you know?" You nodded your head, slightly blushing at Sam's random words of kindness. "Man, I can't really put into words what I'm trying to say," he stumbled as he looked past you, avoiding eye contact, "but I just- we, just- we want you to have a really good time. Does that make sense?"

You knew exactly what Sam was saying. It was a story much familiar to the one in your heart as well. The longing and desperation for your partners to be having as good of a time in your company as you were theirs was present between the three of you. For two men so stone cold, especially Dean, they had warm hearts. You saw them as a family you never had, and you knew that Sam was seeing the same thing. "It makes perfect sense, Sam," you replied, smiling. "And as long as I'm with you guys, my birthday is going to be great. Don't stress about it. It's just a birthday. I'll have many more to come, especially if I have you guys around."

Sam sighed and laughed to himself, flattered. He grabbed you into another deadly hug and you wrestled over him, squeezing back with as much ferocity as you could. Sam moved his hands down to your hips and squeezed his hand on your sides, earning a yelp from you as that was one of your ticklish spots, and threw you over so your back was against the bed. He crawled over you and you giggled, knowing this routine all too well. You slapped his arms and hands away as they grabbed out towards you. He shifted so he was sitting on his knees in between your legs, and you saw the opportunity to try out one of the moves Dean was training you on. You clearly remembered him lecturing you on what to do if you were being sexually assaulted by a man, (for obvious reasons, although you made it clear to him that you didn't need to be taught how not to be sexually assaulted), and you figured having an unsuspecting Sam between your legs would be the perfect time to try it out. You hooked your leg behind his knee and thrust your weight forward so you could headbutt his stomach and watched him fall off the bed. He laughed hysterically and he hit the ground and let out a, "What the fuck, [f/n]?"

You rolled off the edge of the bed and on top of Sam, laughing with him as you rested yourself on his hips and tickled his bare stomach. He reached his arms out to slap yours away, but you pulled away quickly before he could get you. Wrestling and tickle fights were what kept you and Sam young. It helped relieve stress and provided a harmless, adorable bonding experience for you two. Sam reacted quickly to your retreat and in an instant, his hands were at your sides, squeezing and making you laugh and scream playfully. Because of the attack on you, you wiggled mercilessly on top of Sam, letting your crotch rub against his without your knowledge, earning a flushed face from Sam. He knew exactly what was going to happen, especially since you were straddling him in only a t-shirt and panties, so he quickly thrust his torso upward and at your direction, causing you to be the one toppled over and underneath Sam. He rested an elbow next to your head for support and he leaned his smiling face down to yours, making sure to keep you as trapped as possible as his other hand continued to tickle you. Your attempts at swatting him away failed, so finally, you decided to cry out "Uncle" before you busted an artery from laughing too hard and bled to death. 

Sam sat back, still laughing hysterically as you covered your face with your hands, still squirming on the floor. "You're evil, Sam!" you shouted, muffled from your hands on your face. Sam smiled brightly and stood up.

"I don't get to have fun often," he stated.

"But when you do, you go HARD," you complained playfully, earning another giggle from your 'assailant'.

As if on cue, steam escaped the bathroom and Dean called out, "Hey, I still gotta take care of some stuff, but you can hop in if you want to. Shower's not see-through or anything." 

"Thanks," you called back to him gratefully, used to this shower situation while occupying motels.

Sam looked down at you, admiring the redness of your body from all the laughing and adrenaline. Your shirt had risen quite high from all the playing, allowing Sam a perfect view of your midriff and your panties that hugged your body so perfectly. He had never seen you in such a...submissive...pose. His blood balance itself between his cheeks and his already semi-erect member. His breathing became ragged again, but he was quickly forced to calm himself when he saw you begin to sit up and compose yourself. He had trained himself well for these situations. Sam realized early on in his pubescent life that it never took much to turn him on, and he'd be lying if he said that he'd never been turned on by you before. He could become erect just by going on his morning runs or watching you cook breakfast back at the bunker. But what confused him is that he always believed that he had no romantic intentions when he was with you. Sure, he found you sexually appealing, but he wasn't stupid. You were his teammate. But the thought of having you in his arms each morning as something more both excited and scared the daylights out of him. He appreciated your kindness and your friendship more than anything. As the thought of romance came across his mind once again, he laughed and shook it off.

He wasn't ready to throw away this friendship.

Not yet.


End file.
